Silver Eyes
Rita was new to Facebook, and consequently, was eager to click on the notification box every time it showed that she had one. Time and again it showed things as mundane as a game request, or a pointless status by a followed friend, but the novelty of being a Facebook user still withheld her curiosity from ebbing. One winter morning, she was notified of a tag. Intrigued, she clicked the box. A “Silver Eyes”, someone not added to Rita, had tagged her to a log cabin. Bemused and more curious, she looked up this strange Facebook user, whose profile turned out to be rather bland; there was no profile picture, no events or posts, except the tagged one and privacy settings occluded her from probing in any further. Bored at this point, Rita logged out; she was in a hurry anyway, as she was getting dressed for an outing with her mother. After a joyous day of braving daring ski jumps and gliding along the giant frozen skating attractions, Rita headed back, tired. Her mother had arranged for them to stay the night. She directed Rita to where they would be sleeping, a log cabin that was oddly familiar. It took a minute before the recognition finally sunk in, and Rita’s jaw dropped to the floor. It was the cabin she was tagged to. She looked to and fro from the tagged picture to the real one, bewildered. It was indeed unbelievable. Unsurprisingly, Rita hesitated. Her mother stepped in, leaving Rita remained suspended in her astonishment at the doorstep. Rita’s mother briskly browsed the accommodation and then snapped at Rita, annoyed at her pause, to come inside and help her unpack. Rita awoke from her daze and obeyed, stressing the logical conclusion that it was a coincidence, for the outing site was commonplace for many leisure seekers. As she tucked herself in, she checked back into the tag and squinted; the post had been removed. It crossed her mind several times to add the person, or send a message, but she discovered that privacy forbade all of that as well. Unamused, she cast her phone aside and concentrated on falling asleep, dismissing the ominousness of the event. The following day, Rita woke up late. After a good breakfast at the site’s diner, she set out to skate. The steely grey expanse of frozen lake water provided an ideal practice ground to develop what skill she possessed as an amateur figure skater. As she laced on her skates, she logged back in. There was another tag, of her, to a pool of water. Annoyed, Rita put her phone in back in her pocket and slid onto the ice. She started off with some strides and gradually went into more skillful moves. Soon she was performing sharp, angled gyrations along the frigid, frictionless icy surface. As Rita attracted a handful of onlookers, who cheered her on, her confidence heightened, and she decided to pull a bigger stunt-the axel jump. She strode, gaining momentum and took off. To her surprise Rita was able to make the spin, which would usually knock her off balance. She stuck the landing, to the applause of her audience, but the amazement fell short to panic. The puzzled Rita was soon aware of the reason; a massive crunch was audible and the ice under her feet collapsed. The site’s emergency crew exhibited great vigilance, pulling Rita out of her watery peril in minutes. As she was carried away by the paramedics, Rita, still conscious, could not help but cringe at the sight of the site of the accident- a pool, that was all too familiar. Perhaps it was not an accident at all. Rita had a small hypothermic episode, from which she had recovered within hours. Her mother was unaware the whole time, happily hopping from one gift shop to the next, terribly exhausting her father’s credit card. She had checked out of the infirmary and was making her way to the gift shop blocks to meet her mother and tell her everything. Rita was terrified, panicking at this moment. Hesitantly, she went online again, intending to block that person. The picture of the pool was gone, only to be replaced by another, in which she was tagged again. “Rest In Peace - Rita Sparrows” wrote the tombstone. Category:CreepyPasta